


Inside the hospital

by lwise2019



Series: Mikkel's Story [33]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23502463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwise2019/pseuds/lwise2019
Summary: At long last, the team makes it to the hospital to search for records of the cure.
Series: Mikkel's Story [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536739
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Inside the hospital

They had to move the tank, of course. The explosion would surely have awakened any trolls nearby, and while few trolls would venture out in the bright sunshine, they would be out and hunting by nightfall. A few kilometers down the relatively passable road, Lalli pointed out a good campsite next to a battered road sign which informed them that Odense was just three kilometers further.

Although there had been no grossling encounters that day, Mikkel still put Reynir to work scrubbing everyone's clothes; it kept Reynir busy and happy, and with only two suits of clothes for each of the original team, keeping their clothes acceptably clean was a constant chore. Mikkel had scrubbed Reynir's clothes just that morning while the Icelander sat inside wrapped in a blanket, and felt that the other's one suit of clothes was passable for now.

Supper was vegetables and tallow, somewhat improved by the addition of salt, but was accepted with only slight grumbling, for everyone was excited at the nearness of their goal.

Everyone, that is, but Lalli. His posture as he departed to scout their route into Odense was so unhappy that Mikkel was moved to ask Tuuri what was wrong.

“Oh, he's homesick. I told him Trond was working on a quarantine ship for us, but he just really wants to go home.” They watched the departing scout for a moment. “Well, he'll be all right, and we'll be going home soon.” She shrugged and climbed into the tank.

Turning to follow her, Mikkel paused for a moment, gazing out into the cold, dark, silent landscape. It was his ancestral homeland, but it was not a human land, not now, and probably not again in his lifetime.

_I want to go home too._

_But the cure comes first._

* * *

Mikkel jolted awake, heart pounding from a nightmare, the worst he'd experienced since … well, since Kastrup. Swarms of grosslings and something dark and evil behind them … he shook his head in the darkness, dismissing the memory, and listened to his teammates.

Tuuri and Sigrun slept quietly, their only sounds their breathing and occasional movements. Emil snored as always, and Reynir was muttering in his sleep, almost as if he were carrying on a conversation. Mikkel couldn't make out what he was saying, and didn't much care anyway. He took a deep breath to calm himself and sought to return to the comfort of sleep, rolling over and closing his eyes.

It was long before he slept.

* * *

Lalli returned from scouting in the morning when the others had finished their breakfast. As Mikkel stowed gear in preparation for their next journey, he listened with half an ear to Tuuri as she conveyed the scout's report to Sigrun. Lalli was concerned about the level of grossling activity in the hospital that was their goal, but Sigrun merely shrugged, “It's cool, that's what weapons were invented for.”

Mikkel shrugged too, though no one saw. They were in the Silent World, and anywhere they went there were likely to be grosslings. Indeed, he thought they'd been quite lucky in the few encounters they'd had, but then they'd stayed out of the cities for the most part, and it was very cold.

Siv Västerström's voice came over the radio as he passed, a stack of bowls in his hand. “Hello? _Hey!_ Is the radio broken?”

“Ah, hello, you again. What is on your mind today?” he asked courteously.

“May I talk with _anybody else_ please?”

Mikkel chuckled but leaned out of the tank to gesture at Tuuri. Much as he would enjoy playing word games with a captive audience, he wanted to get moving into Odense.

As he picked up the last bowl, which the returning scout had emptied hungrily, he saw the three boys (as he thought of them) standing together looking out at the road. They were not, of course, conversing since no two of them had a language in common, but he was pleased that they were, at least, interacting to some degree. Lalli froze, staring at something, and Reynir, Emil, and Mikkel off to the side of the three, all went on alert, following his gaze – but there was nothing there.

Or at least Mikkel saw nothing there. Lalli's intent expression and Reynir's horrified expression implied that there was _something_. The little Finn stared for a long moment, then turned to say something in an annoyed tone to Reynir, who of course did not understand the Finnish comment but replied reassuringly in Icelandic, “Don't be afraid! I think … that looks like some kind of omen. It can't hurt us.”

Mikkel studied the two “mages” for a long moment, then sighed and turned away. He didn't believe in omens, not really, not even after his experiences on this expedition, and in any case, from what he knew of superstitions relating to omens, they served no real function but to disturb people. It didn't matter if you continued as planned or if you changed plans in an attempt to avoid whatever the omen presaged; whatever it was, it would find you anyway.

Sigrun, who had seen none of this, came over to tell Lalli, “Hey, I'll need some scout eyes once we get there, make sure to sleep for a few hours. Bed. Do you understand 'bed' yet?”

As Lalli simply stared at her blankly, she said resignedly, “Nope, no understanding happening here. Translator!”

Tuuri hastened out of the tank, heard the command and passed it on. With one last circuit of the tank to be certain that everything was put away and secured, the whole team climbed aboard, and they were at last on their way again.

Inside the tank, seeing Lalli's deeply depressed expression, Mikkel pulled a cookie from his stash and held it out. To his surprise and concern, the scout simply pushed past him and walked to the back of the tank, where he stood staring out of the window. When Emil followed him, Lalli said something sadly in Finnish, and Emil replied, “You were supposed to go to bed, you know.” It didn't really matter what either of them said, Mikkel thought, turning away, for they had no language in common. The Finn's attitude concerned him greatly but he knew of no way to help him. Perhaps he would be happier once they got through collecting the cure and were on their way to rescue.

* * *

There were grosslings in Odense. In the cold, clear light of morning, they stayed hidden, out of sight but not out of range of the kitten's strange senses. Despite Emil's soothing petting, she bushed out and hissed repeatedly as the tank ground its way through the town. The tank made good time, for the route Lalli had found for them was clear.

Remarkably clear, in fact. As they proceeded, Mikkel began to suspect that the way had _been_ cleared, or at least kept clear during the panicky time as terrified people fled uselessly from the towns. That something special had happened here became apparent as they moved out of the residential area and saw before them a cleared area and a crude barbed-wire-topped stockade that surrounded the hospital for which they had travelled so far. Fortunately one of the concrete panels used to form the stockade had fallen in – or had it been pushed? – and so they were able to pass through.

The instructions which Tuuri had received that morning were very clear, and she was quickly able to identify the building they sought. All of the immunes piled out, along with the kitten, to examine the situation. The kitten bushed out and hissed at the building, but her warning was … not disregarded, but merely accepted. Of course there would be trolls in a hospital. That was a given.

“Looks good enough,” Sigrun stated, “the place isn't collapsing or anything. Gimme a second and we'll go in.”

Mikkel grunted in answer, his attention on Lalli. “You are not resting enough,” he told the scout. “We'll have to do something about that after this.” Lalli stared at him uncomprehendingly, dark circles under his eyes, while Sigrun ducked behind the tank and, out of sight of the others, rewrapped the bandages on her wounded arm. It was not healing well and it bothered her, but she did not want to be fussed over.

“Are we ready to carry on?” Mikkel asked, coming around to check on her just too late to see the problem.

“Sure!” she replied, and then “All right, let's get going!” To Lalli, “I want _you_ with me; your eyes are useful.” To Mikkel, “And _you_ , you're good at reading.” And finally to Emil, “ _Not_ you.”

“What did _I_ do?” he asked, worried.

“Nothing, you're fine, buddy. Someone needs to stay behind and watch over the helpless babies. We can't make big guy here do it. What would he do if a troll showed up? Stomp on it?”

“That is indeed what I would do,” Mikkel put in coldly. Undeterred, the captain told Emil and the non-immunes “Bye” and the three explorers put their shoulders to a revolving door and entered the hospital. Left behind to help guard the non-immunes, the kitten continued to hiss.

* * *

The hospital was in fairly good shape. Many ceiling tiles had fallen and much plaster had peeled away from the walls, but the structure seemed sound. The three explorers stopped just inside to look, listen, and even smell the air before proceeding. Broken windows had admitted rain and snow, producing large patches of mold and rot, and abundant birds' nests proved the hospital to be a good sanctuary for the smaller birds. The three saw and smelled no trace of grossling slime, and the building was quiet but for the whisper of wind and occasional skittering noises as rodents sought cover from the intruders.

An ancient but still readable map on the wall drew their attention, and they made their way carefully through the debris to examine it. “So, where to?” Sigrun asked.

“An archive of any kind is what we want,” Mikkel replied, studying the map and drawing out a route on one precious sheet of paper. “I reckon searching by the laboratories will be our best bet. Let's hope that they didn't rely solely on the computing machines to store their information.”

“Hey, if you're worried about _that_ ,” Sigrun answered cheerily, “let's just bring one with us! I bet some smart people know how to dig stuff out of them.” Suiting actions to words, she scooped up a monitor from a nearby desk … and it simply broke apart in her hands. “Well, _obviously_ we'll need to find one that isn't a broken piece of garbage like this one,” she finished, dropping the pieces and kicking the debris under the desk.

“I suggest we focus primarily on finding written records,” Mikkel advised drily, “for the time being.” He rather doubted that there _were_ any “smart people” who might be able to dig information out of computing machines, even if there were any in a condition to be used. But written records – well, according to histories, there were once written records that survived still readable despite being lost for millennia. Unfortunately those records were not brought along by the desperate refugees from the Rash, and so had been lost again.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” she answered as Mikkel showed his drawing to Lalli, who led the way through the ruin.

The lobby where they entered had been fairly well lit by the windows, but as they moved further in, the building became darker and darker until they could see only by the light of their flashlights. Finding the stairwell which they had thought to use, they discovered that the doors opened outward, had no exterior handle, and fit so tightly that Mikkel could not force his crowbar into the gap between them. As Mikkel and Sigrun struggled to find any way to get them open, Lalli wandered away, soon returning to clear his throat for their attention and to lead them to the elevator shaft.

 _Those_ doors were much easier to pry open, and inside they found that the elevator itself had fallen down to the basement over the decades. By piling furniture on top, they were able to construct a somewhat rickety “stair” to the next floor. Sigrun, as the experienced troll-hunter, went first and, once she quietly signalled “all clear”, Mikkel followed and then Lalli.

All three were on edge, and before they'd even gone ten meters, the older two stopped and turned at the sound of Lalli drawing his dagger. The little scout slipped soundlessly back to the elevator shaft, dagger raised, and peered cautiously inside. After a moment he withdrew with a puzzled expression, shrugged, and turned to follow the others.

They went on.

As they passed patient room after patient room, Mikkel realized that the scout was trying to peer through the small observation window on each door but, being so short, he was straining up on his tiptoes each time. Thinking to be of assistance, the big Dane simply lifted the smaller man up to a level where he could easily see.

Quick as a snake, the Finn jerked himself free and threw a rather feeble punch at the other. “I'm sorry,” Mikkel said sincerely, taking the punch without flinching, “I misread the situation. It won't happen again.” The Finn was not family, he reminded himself, and could not be treated as a younger cousin might be.

Sigrun looked back impatiently and Mikkel made haste to catch up with her. Lalli snarled something uncomplimentary in Finnish and stalked ahead of the other two, still on guard against grosslings. 

They saw many dead trolls and many patients who had succumbed to the Rash, cruelly deformed but obviously having died without transforming into monsters. Mikkel began to feel uneasy about the cure; if they'd had a cure, why had there been so many advanced cases? But then, he reminded himself, they _hadn't_ had a cure initially and would have had to study who-knows-how-many cases to find one. These then were the early failures. Thus reassured, he followed the other two.

From the second floor it was possible to get into the stairwell and they were able to get up to the third floor without incident. That was the floor they had been seeking, and they soon found the laboratory which seemed most promising. This door required the application of Mikkel's crowbar, but they were soon within and the two older explorers hurried toward the shelves of records visible ahead in the dim light from unbroken windows.

They were halfway down the hallway when Lalli made them both jump by shoving the door shut. In the silent building, the sound struck them like a thunderclap. It being impossible to ask him why he had done that, though they could guess, they simply looked at him and then at each other, shrugged, and continued.

“All right,” Sigrun ordered, “pick all the important ones you can carry and let's get out of here.” The silence and Lalli's evident unease was getting to her.

“Slow down, this is going to take a moment.” It would take more than a moment, he thought – there were an amazing number of records. But at least they seemed to be categorized, so if he could just work out how the cure would be filed … “The vast majority of these binders are most likely of no interest to us. I will have to look for some that are worth carrying out. It is unlikely that I would find something right away in the very first cabinet.”

Picking up a binder, he read its topic: Measles outbreaks 1980-2000. “Huh, look at that,” he muttered. Measles, an extinct disease, had once produced outbreaks so severe that this major hospital had kept records of them.

“So, you _did_ find something right away?”

“Nope. I suggest you make yourselves comfortable.”

Lalli was clearly not comfortable. He prowled along the hallway, peering suspiciously up at the ceiling, at vents, through the small window on the door. Sigrun alternated watching him and watching Mikkel pulling out binders and putting them back.

Fortunately the Rash had been so called almost from the beginning, and it was not long before Mikkel found binders so labelled. With a sigh of genuine relief – he'd begun to fear that they were in the wrong place and that he'd be fruitlessly searching for days – he gathered up all he could carry, choosing those from late in the epidemic, and stacked them in a box. Arms full, he turned to go. “There, that'll have to do. I think I've gathered the most important ones.”

“Good,” Sigrun answered with a glance at Lalli, disturbed by his obvious unease. “Let's get out of this building then. At least we still have plenty of daylight left.”

Lalli stopped them before they reached the door. Hand out in a pressing gesture to keep them back, dagger drawn, he opened the door and stepped through.

The troll lunged at him from his right. It was low to the ground with numerous multijointed legs, but it was able to heave itself upward, its head almost waist-high. One savage blow, and his dagger went all the way through its head. It was dead before it hit the floor.

“You are one useful pipsqueak to keep around, you know,” Sigrun observed with pleasure. “I might have to steal you and put you in my unit back home when we go back.”

But she spoke too soon. While they were distracted by that troll, a second one had scurried rapidly along the ceiling behind them and was about to drop on the two older explorers when Lalli, turning, cried out a warning. Mikkel spun, saw the gaping maw coming at him, and, hands full, jammed the box of binders into the thing's jaws. The troll, apparently thinking it had gotten a good bite of the intruders, darted away.

“Time to get out of here! Grab the stuff and let's go!” Sigrun ordered. Mikkel spread his empty hands helplessly, furious at himself for his instinctive reaction.

“It –!” Sigrun began, but cut herself off. “Catch that thing!” she ordered Lalli, pointing, and “You handle the stupid papers!” to Mikkel. Humbly, he knelt to gather the papers scattered along the monster's path.

The three pursued the creature through the hospital and up two flights of stairs, Lalli far in the lead, Sigrun behind him, and Mikkel half-crouching even farther back. “Where did that little ferret run off to …!” Sigrun began, reaching an intersection. Without warning, the troll came charging toward her, knocking her to the side but in effect slicing itself apart on her raised dagger. Mikkel, running to her side, immediately pried the dead monster's jaws open to remove the box and the remaining records. “Lalli!” he said sharply. “Where's Lalli?”

Alarmed, she started down the hallway to look, but the scout himself came running back, dagger in one hand and more rescued papers in the other. He stopped in front of Sigrun with a desperate expression. “What?” she asked, “Is there another one coming?” Speech was useless; he attempted gestures. “It's really big?” she guessed, “With lots of arms and fingers! Sharp fangs! And angry crazy eyes!”

It was obvious that this wasn't working. Pulling himself together, the Finn tried one of his few Swedish words. “Gha – Ghosts!”

“Oh,” she answered. And then, “ _Oh!_ Right! That's our cue to be somewhere else. Not even us can beat up ghosts, I think.”

“Hmm,” Mikkel replied. In an effort to lighten the mood, “And it's time for lunch and dinner anyway.” With a quick look around for any papers he'd missed, he followed Sigrun, Lalli trailing along almost dancing with impatience. If his hands had not been full, Mikkel would have pulled out his pendant, for it was uncomfortably cold again.

Emil was waiting outside, his face a study in confusion. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Sigrun leapt into the tank and shouted, “Step on it, more annoying spirits incoming!” As Tuuri acknowledged the order, the others scrambled inside and the tank pulled away at its rather dismal top speed.

* * *

Back in the tank, Lalli put his hands to his head and gave a low moan of pain, but when Emil, thinking to show concern, patted his arm, the little scout elbowed his hand away with a growl and stalked off to a corner. Reynir, meanwhile, had retreated to the corner farthest from the others and was all but shaking with fear despite the protection of his mask. Mikkel turned to assure him that he was not in danger, but was interrupted by Emil.

“Hey. You. You're a sensible person, like I am. You don't really believe in this … _superstitious_ stuff, right?”

“I do not know,” Mikkel answered honestly. What did he really think about the craziness that they'd experienced? He didn't think he believed in the unquiet dead, whatever Reynir might say. Still … “I have never seen definitive proof. But I did work temporarily with a Norwegian crew once, alongside a spiritual healer of theirs. It did seem as if the wounded she tended to recovered to a degree comparable to my own patients. It left me pondering.”

Emil considered his answer for a moment. “Soo …” he replied, “If I understood correctly, you're saying that your medical treatment might be as effective as basically doing nothing?”

“That is the other possibility,” Mikkel acknowledged.

“Congrats, all, on successfully not dying during our last stint together!” the irrepressible Sigrun put in, “Time to order a pickup boat?”

“I will fire up the radio,” Mikkel replied. The pickup boat _should_ have been already in the works, but he suspected that someone back at home base might have found it convenient to delay it a bit until the cure was secured. He wanted the cure at least as much as they did, however, so he did not object to that.

“Think about it,” Sigrun said happily, “Not only are we returning with riches, we might even have a recipe for a vaccine. Or a cure! We're going down in history, boys!”

Mikkel gave her a distracted smile. Now he finally had time to examine the rescued papers while they made their way to the camp site.


End file.
